Star Fox : The Second Great Discoveries
by TheSlowWriter
Summary: The terrestrial resources are almost completely exhausted. To solve this problem, the American United Empire decides to send people to exoplanets to search for new deposits in order to prevent a worldwide crisis. But this event will change, without anybody knowing it, the course of History. Not only for one, but for two races...
1. Prologue

Prologue

Montreal, Province of Quebec, Canada

2029

4:57 p.m.

Montreal City, once full of life and activity, had become no more than a ruin field. The majority of the once beautiful, high skyscrapers of downtown were now barely still standing after being damaged by the non-stop fire of the American artillery. A terrible smell of gunpowder, blood and burned human flesh had soaked the boulevards and the squares. Half decomposed corpses, of both civilians and soldiers, were scattered all over the city streets, alongside rubble and craters that were still smouldering after grenade and shell explosions.

Fortunately, the battle that made the city shake was over. The benefits were seen everywhere : air was becoming pure again as dust progressively dropped to the ground ; the horrible odor was starting to be swept away by the more gentle and salty one coming from the St. Lawrence river ; civilians were getting out of their homes for the first time in months. It was still dangerous though to be inside the limits of the grand municipality. There were multiple reasons for that : mines ; non-exploded shells ; snipers ; etc.

Even so, peace had come back. It was calm all over the island.

Well, almost...

A military convoy was slowly progressing towards the Canadian headquarters, located in the Bell Centre, on René-Lévesque Boulevard. In the middle of this agitation, sitting in the front seat of an ITA (Infantry Transport Vehicle) was the battle's winner, the one who, while going home, would get the majority of the honours related. Not only for this particular battle, but also for ending a war that had lasted 12 years.

This man was Gilbert Samuels, Emperor, General of the Armies of the United-States and supreme leader of the American United Empire.

He was a tubby little man with a round face, chubby hands, short dark hair as well as little piercing blue eyes behind a pair of little glasses. He was wearing his classical military uniform : a black suit with pale brown shirt and tie. A black officer cap, black leather boots, multiple decorations and a holster containing a .357 Magnum Desert Eagle were completing his uniform. The emperor's epaulets had seven stars (five assembled as a pentagon and two in the centre of the geometrical form), a reference to his military grade. His arms were folded over his belly, accompanying a little and confident smile that was revealing great satisfaction.

Behind him, out of the cabin and accompanying a few soldiers, were sitting two of his most important officers : General Lewis Patterson and General Paul Masterson. The first one was a beanpole. He had brown eyes, black hair, protruding ears and an aquiline nose completed by a medium sized mouth surrounded by thin lips. He was sitting down straight, his hands joint together and his head tilted like he was lost in his thoughts. The high-graded was wearing the same uniform as his leader, but with a lot less decorations, only four stars on the epaulets. Also, the officer's holster contained a classical Beretta M92F5 instead of a DE. Despite not being very intelligent, he was distinguishing himself from his peers because of an unwavering loyalty to the political leader and had been chosen by the emperor to act a bit like a bodyguard.

On the other hand, Masterson was more average sized. He had brown eyes, chestnut brown hair, a centred and straight nose, fleshy lips and a square shaped jaw. He was more relaxed than his comrade, having his legs crossed and smoking a cigarette. He wore the same uniform as Patterson. He had not been chosen for his loyalty ; instead, it was for his great negotiation skills.

In the truck, everyone was getting impatient. It was normal, though. The convoy was perpetually stopped or slowed down for multiple reasons. It could be to drive around a shell crater, to defuse a land mine or to destroy a barricade. Moreover, the seats had no stuffing ; let us not forget it was a military truck, after all. The only people who were more comfortable than the others were the emperor and the driver, of course.

Annoyed, and not wanting to be late for the appointment, Masterson leaned forward next to the opened window separating the cabin from the back and asked to the chauffeur :

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost, sir." responded the driver. "Just a few hundred meters away."

The general got back to his original position, stubbed his cigarette out, crossed his arms and looked to his right. He watched the city's ruins pass as he lost himself in his mind. Since the Canadian forces capitulated, he was looking forward to see his family again. He would finally be able to bring his wife, Mary, out to the restaurant like they used to. He would go see his son play baseball and his daughter play piano as before.

As he was thinking about his home, the convoy continued on its path. It reached an intersection, then turned left on de la Montagne Street. Then, after a few moments, left again on des Canadiens-de-Montréal Avenue. The chauffeur's voice brought back Masterson to reality as it announced the Bell Centre.

The convoy came to a halt with a squeal of breaks. The soldiers who were sitting in the back disembarked, followed by the two generals. Patterson then got to Samuels door and opened it, banging his heels together. The emperor got out, adjusted his uniform and started to walk towards the stadium while instructing his subordinates to follow him.

The little group then went towards the amphitheatre's doors. While Patterson did his job by insuring Samuels security, Masterson gazed at the building. It was square-shaped, big and small at the same time. The exterior was relatively intact, as the nearby constructions had fallen inside themselves or far from the great structure. The walls had become grey because of the cement dust and they were slightly bended, like if a shockwave had hit them from the inside.

After a ton of banging heels and military salutes, the officers arrived at the entrance. The two soldiers standing in front of it opened the doors. Without forgetting to salute, of course.

They then found themselves in kind of a long, round corridor with multiple passages. Guided by the combatants, the generals took one of the ways and entered in the arena's biggest room.

The contrast was pretty astonishing. While the exterior was relatively in a good shape, the interior was a complete mess. The roof, that did not hold out, had collapsed. The seats, the aisles, everything was covered with a blend of cement, glass, plastic, metal and fabric.

As the negotiations were supposed to take place on the ice rink, how were they going to get there? One of the soldiers who opened the stadium's doors designated a path that had been cleared in prevision of the emperor's appointment. Leaving the soldiers, the three officers then followed the little way. A few minutes after, they finally arrived at the rink itself.

In the meantime, at the other side of the stadium, in one of the former boxes, three other officers were preparing themselves for the final negotiations. They were the three last members of the Canadian General staff as the others commanders had whether been killed or captured. Instead of their enemies, who were relatively calm concerning the upcoming talks, they were really, but really nervous.

The first one, who was doing the hundred steps across the room, was named general Martin Smith. He had green eyes and black hair accompanied by a little bit of baldness. A large nose as well as a big mouth was completing his portrait. Before the war, he also had a medium belly and a double chin. But now... The officer had become dangerously thin. His bones were almost entirely visible under his skin. All of his body looked like it was about to collapse.

His uniform looked like the Americans' one, only with slight differences. The suit and the tie were navy blue, the jacket was white, the boots and the holster were tawny. The gun was also different, being an old M1911.

Another high-graded was sitting on a cement block in the far back of the room. He was responding to the name Taylor Williamson, admiral. He had black eyes, no hair, a medium sized nose and very big lips around his mouth. He wore the same uniform as Smith.

The tension was palpable in the little room. So, it is with no surprise that Williamson, annoyed by Smith's hundred steps, lifted up his head and asked :

"Could you stop?"

The general looked at Williamson and, while continuing walking, asked :

"Why?"

"I'm trying to think."

"'Bout what?" Smith had interrupted his walking.

"Anything."

Feeling that the discussion was becoming boring, Smith went back to his activity.

"Particularly what we could have done to reverse the war's course of events."

The general stopped again. He believed he had been insulted, even though it was not the case. His reaction could be explained by the fact that Williamson and him had a military history filled with competition between themselves. Turning towards the admiral, he said :

"Let me help you with this. What happened at the Queen Charlotte Islands?"

Williamson responded :

"Half of the Third Fleet sunk. Yeah, th..."

Suddenly, the admiral understood what the statement meant. If you did not understand, here is the thing : the Third Canadian Fleet, during this event, was under the responsibility of the admiral. Indeed, it was an event that could have been avoided, but as it was mentioned in a conversation between tworivals, it started to degenerate pretty quickly. Deciding to play his comrade's game and to pay him back, Williamson stated, while getting up :

"All right. Who made 150,000 men of the 6th Army get slain during the Fort Severn-Kenora counteroffensive?"

The admiral was now standing in front of Smith, only a few centimetres from the general's nose, looking at him directly in the eye. The statement pissed the land officer because it was him who coordinated the attack. He tried to reply, but was interrupted by a powerful and authoritarian voice that shouted :

"ENOUGH!"

The two officers jumped. Slowly, they turned their head at the sound's source. Challenge and contempt, that we easily easily reading in the opponents' eyes, had been replaced by fear and worry.

But, who shout?

Let us meet him.

The shouter was the third officer. Well, he was not exactly an officer. His name was Pierre Drouin, Minister of the National Defence. Pale green eyes, dark brown hair, an Aquiline nose and a little mouth composed his portrait. He also had a very large and straight scar on his face, result of a failed assassination attempt. He was dressed with a standard black suit that most politicians wear, along with a white jacket, a red tie and black leather shoes. As the two others, he was really thin, but it did not really make a difference. Before the war, he was already thin and rather frail, but was being respected with his powerful, authoritarian voice and his great intelligence.

The man was sitting at a little plastic table on an unsteady wood chair. He was writing a letter for his wife, but the argument between his two subordinates had interrupted his writing. After his scream, he put down his pen on the improvised desk, stood up from his chair, and turned to his officers.

"Do you realize what you two are doing?" His voice was filled with anger.

The servicemen kept silent, too intimidated by the politician to speak.

"Well, I'm gonna tell you. You don't care. You don't care that your country has been invaded, that hundred of civilians are dead because of this war, that we risk to be dead ourselves before the day's end! Montreal is fucked, Canada is fucked, the whole fucking world is fucked, and if you two do care about it all, shut the hell up and focus on your country's problems instead of acting like two complete dumbasses! Is that clear?"

No answer. The powerful monologue had left them paralyzed, too afraid to do anything in fear of causing another explosive reaction from the minister.

"IS THAT CLEAR?!"

This last shout finally unlocked the two generals' joints and they said in unison :

"YES, SIR!"

"Good." He checked his watch. "Now prepare yourselves. It's almost time."

The minister's subordinates went back to their room corners to adjust their uniform, check their weapons and do some mental relaxation. Drouin, as for him, sat down again, hunched a bit and gave his temples a massage while murmuring :

"_Tabarnak d'esti de câlisse..._"

He was done with the goddamn war. He just wanted to go home, with his wife and son, and hold them both in his arms to comfort them. But before, he had to do his duty.

Grabbing his pen, he finished his writing, signed, folded the paper and put it in an envelope. He then closed it and sealed it. He put away his pen in his pocket, got up and, followed by his subordinates, went to the door. He opened it only to face a Canadian soldier who was about to knock. The soldier, surprised, stuttered a bit, then cleared his throat and said to the group :

"It's time."

The serviceman started to get away, but he was held back by the minister. Looking at the young man very seriously, Drouin gave him the missive, before leaning forward and murmuring in the soldier's ear :

"Give this to my wife, no matter what."

The fighter responded by a head sign that he would, no matter what. The three high-graded then entered a little passage that led them in the rink's room. They arrived at the top of a similar path like the one used by Patterson, Masterson and Samuels to join the rink. Drouin, after he spotted his American adversaries, crossed himself and said to his comrades :

"Let's do this."

And, in spite of their nervosity, descended in the arena.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

White House, Washington D.C., American United Empire

20 years later, April 12th, 2049

10:47 a.m.

"Are you sure, Mr. Xiao, of what you are advancing?" said the emperor Gilbert Samuels, with a voice filled with satisfaction of accomplished work and a bit of joy.

"Yes I am, my emperor. Your History modifications are starting to do their work : people are supporting you more and more. We can see it in the society : the number of people wanting to join the police or the army has exploded, the teens and young adults take you as a model, etc. Hell, even some of the most tenacious opposition groups are disappearing. Still a few years and it'll be a total success."

The interlocutor's voice was excited and proud, like a child showing his good grades to his parents.

"All of this is fabulous, Mr. Xiao," continued the emperor, "but I can't discuss any longer. I've got a lot of work today and and it seems long. If I want finish it before the day's end, I'd better start now. I'll call you back."

Xiao let out a little laugh.

"I understand, my emperor, I've got a lot too."

"All right. Bye."

"Bye."

The emperor clicked on his earphone, which ended the phone call with Lin Xiao, the minister of Propaganda. Moving back in his chair, the president congratulated himself. His plan was going as expected. But what were these History modifications? I am sure you are asking yourself this question. Let me explain.

The History modifications were a set of changes meant to modify the course of History. The history books were rewritten in order to glorify the Empire. Dating from the War, the ultimate goal of these alterations was to nip in the bud the youth's opposition to the government. Kind like a brainwashing.

Leaning back to his desk, the dictator grabbed a pen with his right hand, a random paper with his left, and started to work. About 15 minutes later, feeling he was thirsty, the president got up, went to a coffee machine in one of the room's corners and, after he prepared it, turn it on.

While waiting for his drink, Samuels let his look wander around the Oval Office. The room had not really changed over his reign. The walls still had the white and gold wallpaper, the same solid wood desk, the same paintings, the same concealed doors... For Samuels, this room, in its actual state, represented perfectly the American power and supremacy. To change it would be an insult to the American United Empire itself.

Finally, the machine rang, indicating that the coffee was ready. Grabbing a mug on the tray next to the coffee maker, the emperor poured the liquid, added sugar and cream, then went back to his seat and resumed his work.

Half an hour had gone away when a little and constant beep resounded in his right ear. His secretary wanted to talk to him. Interrupting his work, he clicked on his earpiece and said with a bit of annoyance :

"Yes, Ms. Sinclair?"

A young feminine voice responded with a neutral accent, like she had not noticed her boss's emotion :

"My emperor, the minister of Economy wishes to talk to you."

Samuels frowned. The minister of Economy? What was he doing here? Usually, when the Economy wanted to talk to him, they were sending a simple email, not the minister himself. Intrigued, the emperor asked :

"Why?"

The answer came back a few seconds later.

"He says it's a very important problem, that if it's not solve quickly, it could threaten the Empire's economic prosperity."

The leader froze. The words «economic prosperity» had created a strong feeling of worry. The affair was that bad? Without responding to the secretary, Samuels leaned forward and pressed a button, authorizing the visitor to access the Oval Office. While waiting for the unexpected visitor to arrive, the emperor smoothed out his army uniform with his hand and put back on his head his cap that he left on his desk. A minute later, the minister entered.

His name was Colin York. The newcomer had brown eyes, brown hair, a broken nose and medium sized mouth counting three false teeth. His features revealed a British origin. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt, no tie and black shoes. The suit's jacket was on his left arm and a briefcase in the right.

At his sight, the emperor's worry went higher. York was normally energetic and he was taking care of himself. But today, his eyes were puffy with dark rings under them, his complexion was pale, his hair were tousled and his legs were unsteady because of weariness. He had not slept during the night.

Samuels pointed a chair next to his desk and silently invited the visitor to sit down. York shuffled to the seat in front of the desk and, when he reached it, literally let himself fall in it. He then asked with a hoarse voice and a strong British accent :

"Do you have coffee, my emperor? If I don't have some soon, I think I'll fall asleep for the next week."

The political leader got up, went to the coffee machine and poured the rest of the liquid in another mug. He then gave it to York and sat back down.

After swallowing a mouthful, the minister started to talk :

"My emperor, the situation is grave."

The president raised an eyebrow, signifying : What do you mean?

"Well, my emperor, I think you should put yourself more comfortable, because it might take a while to explain to explain everything." He took another sip.

The dictator leaned against his chair's back and crossed his arms, which signified : Go on.

"Ok. Six years ago, the department of Substructure called my office. They had noticed an «abnormal» augmentation in the different materials' prices. Suspecting something, they wanted an investigation to be sure everything was normal. I tried to make them hear reason by explaining the economical system and liberalism, but they insisted : they wanted an inquiry. Accepting this, I put men on it and waited for the results. When the investigators' report came in, I was surprised by what they found : something was indeed abnormal. I sent more people on it. We were able with this to make a huge collusion plot fall. Do you remember? Good. Two weeks ago, the same thing happened, but the problem seemed to come from another place : the department of Natural Resources.

"So, I sent my people in there, but they didn't find anything ; I told them to continue to search. Two days ago, one of them found a document. He read it and, according to him, «almost fainted». So I read it myself. It was a normal report concerning Earth's reserves of the periodic table's different elements. At first sight, there was nothing extraordinary. But my man really looked anxious when he gave it to me. So, I did calculations. And..."

York shuddered. Then, he said with a frightened expression :

"There's not a single word that could describe what I felt when I synthesized the results. I thought 'there must be a mistake, this is impossible'. So, I restarted my calculations. Three times. And it was still giving me the same results."

The minister thrust his hand in his pocket and got a little USB key out. He offered it to Samuels and said :

"Here, take a look by yourself, my emperor."

The dictator took the key. He then reached a drawer on his left, opened it and pulled out an electronic tablet. He switch it on and plugged the key in it. A document's icon appeared on the screen. He clicked on it and the content showed. He read :

_Synthesis of the reserves of different metals according to a report from the Department of the Natural Resources of the American United Empire._

_Copper : 5 years_

_Iron/aluminium/steel : 8 years_

_Titanium : 7 years_

_Gold : 6 years_

_Silver : 6 years_

The emperor put down the tablet. His face was neutral, but his eyes reflected surprise, anxiety and a bit of fear. But York was not finished :

"Oh, I forgot, my emperor. If we run out of these materials, the effects of this event would be far worse then the ones from the 2037 petroleum crisis."

It finished the president. He got up and, wobbling, went to the windows behind his desk. While looking outside to the White House's backyard, he was processing the information in his head. The 2037 petroleum crisis, because of the anarchy caused by the lack of oil, had caused millions of deaths and almost destructed the American United Empire. Suddenly, he turned to face his subordinate and said with a neutral voice :

"Go to sleep, mr. York. I want you here tomorrow morning at 9 a.m."

"Yes, my emperor."

The minister got up (more confident because of the coffee), went to the door, opened it and stepped outside. When it shut, the president clicked on his earphone. The voice of his secretary answered :

"Yes, my emperor?"

"Call all the departments. Tell them I want all the chief ministers over here tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. for an extraordinary reunion. They can't be absent under any excuses."

He clicked again and it ended the conversation. He stayed in the same position all day, turning around his head the words of Colin York.

The day after, all the ministers were reunited and sitting in the Oval Office. Wearing their best suits (because it is not everyday you meet the most powerful person on the planet), they were all nervous and asking themselves why the president asked them to come. Only York knew, and he had not talk to anybody about it.

The emperor entered the room and silence fell upon it as everybody got up. With a move, Samuels ordered them to sit down. He then installed himself at his desk and started to speak :

"Ladies and Gentleman, first of all, good morning."

Everybody but York answered back.

"Second of all, I'm sure you're asking yourselves what is going on for such a meeting to take place."

Everybody agreed.

"Well, let me give you three words to help you understand this. We. Are. Fucked."

Everyone frowned and started to show interrogative expressions.

The emperor continued and explained the situation to the assembly. When he finished, everybody had their mouth gaping and their eyes wide open. But their boss was not finished. He continued :

"Now that you know the situation, I'd like to know something : how the hell have I not been warned about this before Mr. York came to me? Ms. Carter?"

All the ministers turned to look at the interpellated person. Jessica Carter was an average woman. She had brown eyes, black long hair, little nose and mouth and big glasses. She was wearing a grey suit with high heels. It was not the kind of woman to be easily intimated by men. She occupied the post of minister of the Natural Resources. With the intention to explain herself, she asked :

"What do you mean, my emperor?"

"The report on which Mr. York based his calculations came from your ministry. So, I deduce that you've been knowing about it."

"Yes, I was, my emperor."

"Why did you keep it secret then?" Samuels was now standing like a father reprimanding his daughter.

"I didn't want to alarm you, my emperor. It was a first report, we were waiting for a second one to arrive. Maybe it would have been better."

"I don't think so. Usually, second reports are always worst then the firsts. You should know this informal rule, Ms. Carter."

Carter wanted to reply, but her leader imposed silence by lifting his hand. He lowered it, got up from his chair, leaned on his hands over his desk and, looking at the little assembly, said, in a solemn tone :

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have to solve this problem if we want to insure the survival of the Empire and avoid a devastating catastrophe. Anyone got an idea?"

Silence. Everyone was thinking. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hand lifted and a voice echoed :

"I do, my emperor." The man who had pronounced these words got up from the sofa he was sitting in. The emperor turned his head towards him. The speaker was a 40 year-old man. He had hazelnut eyes, brown hair, a medium sized aquiline nose and mouth. He had a navy blue suit on him with black shoes. His name was Sergueï Vassilimenko, minister of the Air and Space.

"What is it?" Asked the emperor.

"Exoplanets."

"Exo what?" Samuels had an interrogative expression on his face. He knew a bit of astronomy, but had never this term before.

"Exoplanets. Planets that look like Earth, but that are out of the Solar System. We are studying this possibility since the beginning of the Empire. We could send people there to exploit the different resources. We have the technology and the money to do it. It may sound dangerous to all of you, but this is a risk we have to take to save the Empire. What do you think, my emperor."

Samuels thought of this suggestion. He tried to find other possibilities, but he rapidly face facts : to save his empire and humanity of a worldwide crisis, it was the only choice he could make. No matter how dangerous an operation like this would be, there was nothing else he could do. The emperor walk around his desk, went to his minister and offered a handshake.

"Congratulations, sir, you just saved us."

The other people tried to complain, thinking there was another less dangerous solution, but the decision was final.

Vassilimenko, showing his biggest smile and a look filled with modesty, shook the hand of his leader.


	3. Message

**Sorry guys, but this is not a new chapter. If some of you were desperately expecting a new phase of my story, you will have to wait a little bit longer.**

**This is to inform you guys that, before publishing chapter 2, I will republish the first one. When I uploaded it, I did not take the time to upgrade it because I did not want to make you wait too long. It was a wrong choice, so the chapter's quality went down. I am sorry for that. However, the prologue will stay.**

**Have a good one,**

**-TheSlowWriter**


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